


Sketch

by closet_fujoshi (chaotic_souljam)



Category: Free!
Genre: Art, Drawing, M/M, Smut, another attempt at non-angsty fic, but all harumako because hello otp, might turn out to be mostly fluff, rin makes an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:50:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaotic_souljam/pseuds/closet_fujoshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a simple sketch is the first step in a journey that leads him to Makoto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much unedited, but it's late and I should probably get to sleep soon. May come back and tweak things a bit depending on how the other chapters go.
> 
> Set sometime after the last episode so they're all friends again.

Contrary to popular belief, water isn't always at the forefront of his mind. Granted, it takes up his thoughts most of the time, but sometimes even Haru needs to take a step back and enjoy other things. Things like finding novel ways of incorporating mackerel into the traditional Japanese meal and listening to Makoto's scratchy-sounding covers of random songs all piled onto an oft-played playlist in his iPod. 

Today, however, Haru is feeling exceptionally creative so he digs out an old sketchbook from the abyss otherwise known as the last drawer in his dressing table that he hasn't used since elementary school. A stub of a pencil is stuck in the rings binding the pages together; it would be enough, Haru thinks, for a quick drawing. 

He makes himself comfortable on the floor of his living room, his elbows propped up so he could start drawing.

Art is something that comes naturally to Haru; he supposes it's a trade-off, being able to translate images from his brain so flawlessly onto the white canvas of the paper instead of being able to easily convey his feelings with the right words like Makoto always seems to be able to do.

The tip of the graphite pencil hovers uncertainly above the paper, his mind rifling through his memories in search of a nice subject. In the end, he can't really decide, so he just lets his mind wander as he idly sketches.

_I wonder what Makoto's doing right now._

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon; he must be out playing with Ren and Ran. Or rather, being played with by the twins. Makoto, despite his towering height and admittedly great physique, is still the same crybaby with a soft spot for all things small and cute, including his siblings. 

_Well,_ Haru amends, _not such a crybaby anymore_ , because Makoto doesn't really cry as often as he used to. On the outside at least. Haru supposes he had learned to hone the art of hiding behind that trademark gentle smile of his.

It's a bit sad, now that he thinks about it, because a small part of him doesn't want the simplicity of their friendship to change even more than it already has. He still knows Makoto best, and he can still tell what he's feeling most of the time, but Haru fears that maybe Makoto might get _too_ good at concealing his feelings, and Haru would be left adrift without his anchor to keep him in place.

Haru glances down at his drawing, his mouth opening slightly in surprise.

"Ah."

Without knowing it, he had formed the lines of Makoto's lips, curving downwards in a small pout. He had also drawn the slightly upturned eyebrows resting above clear eyes that seem to stare right into him. Haru smiles to himself because even a mere sketch of Makoto brings a rush of warmth and affection that envelops him the way the sea breeze does when he stands on the beach at the height of summer.

Haru traces the silhouette of Makoto's tousled hair, his mind providing a surprising amount of detail—how it falls over his eyes when he tilts his head just like that, how it brushes the edges of his ears now that it's gotten a bit longer than he is used to, its rough texture that he captures with faint shadows and lines. 

Next he draws Makoto's body, starting with a rough draft of him lying on his stomach. For now, Haru focuses on the shape; he can always add clothes later once he's got the body right. He adjusts the angle of Makoto's face to better fit the position, fiddling with it until it's turned sideways towards him. His fingers move like they're on auto-pilot; he hardly even has to think as he sketches the shape of Makoto's broad shoulders and the curve of his spine. Haru lingers a bit more on Makoto's back, drawing each dip and bump painstakingly, adding every detail he can remember from days spent during swimming practice surreptitiously stealing glances at Makoto's toned body.

_Perfect body._

Even though Makoto had said that he thinks Haru's is the perfect body type, Haru still thinks that Makoto has the best physique out of all of them.

Haru shakes his head, refusing to delve into the reasons why he thinks Makoto's body is perfect.

He begins sketching the arms—from muscular shoulders all the way down to long fingers that are as familiar to Haru as his own. He takes that hand every day and lets it pull him out of water; he knows better than anyone how it feels, rough yet soft at the same time. Haru finds himself tracing each line along the fingertips with such care that it takes him a whole ten minutes just to finish one hand. 

Eventually, he starts on the legs; from what little he can glean from his oft-covered limbs, Makoto has really nicely defined legs. Swimming competitively again has done him a world of good. However, no matter how Haru tries, he just can't capture the image he has in his mind. It looks right, but it feels off somehow. It's quite frustrating to Haru who rarely has problems with drawing what he wants to.

It must be because he hasn't really seen the full length of Makoto's bare legs in a while. Haru nods to himself with a determined frown. It has been a few years since the last time they bathed together, and Makoto's legsuit covers far too much so Haru can only just see the basic shape of the legs. The thighs are especially problematic, because they keep turning out too thin, too thick, too not Makoto. Even the butt is posing a whole slew of problems because he can't get the right balance between roundness and it still being muscular. 

It's not that he hasn't seen everything, because to be honest, he catches glimpses of Makoto's naked body almost every day when they're changing into their swimwear, and Makoto always wears shorts whenever Haru sleeps over, but Haru hasn't had a chance to look closely enough that he can recreate it perfectly on paper. After all, as much as he'd like to stare at Makoto and memorize every little detail, he'd rather avoid the questions that would surely follow if he were to do that. 

So he looks away and ignores the fluttering in his stomach when Makoto leans in a bit too close, when their hands brush against each other, when Makoto's touch seems to linger a bit longer than usual. He tries to ignore the way their relationship had gone from familiar ground to a new frontier ever since that night before regionals, because he isn't sure how to navigate these strange waters without losing himself or Makoto. It's exciting, but scary at the same time.

Haru feels torn between just leaving the imperfect drawing as it is or calling Makoto over. His finger is already on the call button when it hits him how ridiculous it would sound if Makoto asks why he's being invited over.

_"Hey, Makoto. Come over for a bit so I can see your legs. And your butt too, for that matter."_

"No." The word comes out as a vehement growl. Haru shakes his head.

That would be embarrassing for the both of them, and Haru isn't confident that Makoto wouldn't find a way to spontaneously combust just to escape the awkwardness that would soon follow if Haru actually said that. He can already imagine Makoto, red-faced and spluttering and stumbling over his words.

_Wait. There's another way._

Haru scrolls through his short list of contacts on the phone until he sees the name Matsuoka. Kou must have some pictures of Makoto's muscles—he's more or less sure he has seen camera flashes whenever any one of them climbs out of the pool—so Haru can just ask her to send them to him. It still wouldn't help him with trying to draw Makoto's lower body, but at least he can fine-tune the torso so it becomes more accurate.

"Send me whatever pictures you have of Makoto."

Before he can second-guess himself, he presses send.

Haru hadn't bothered explaining himself; surely Kou wouldn't pry, especially when it comes to him and Makoto. He has it on good authority—Nagisa, who knows too much about others for his own good sometimes—that Kou secretly thinks he and Makoto are perfect together. Haru supposes that it isn't a big leap from admiring muscles to the strange world of the fujoshi—yet another term he'd learned from Nagisa—and he isn't one to talk about weirdness considering his obssession with water. Rather, it makes him feel a sort of kinship with the girl, the sort born from knowing that it's all right to like what you like even if people say it's weird, which makes it easier to accept her into the small group of people he doesn't mind being around often.

A long, sombre note of whale song snaps him out of his reverie.

_Someone's calling?_

He looks down in confusion at the phone vibrating in his hand. He had been expecting picture messages, and maybe a 'Good luck!' or something, not a call. Maybe he'd been wrong about Kou not prying after all.

He answers the call distractedly, thinking of what excuse would be plausible for his behaviour. Sure, he can just say it's because he's drawing Makoto, but even Haru knows how that would sound to Kou. She'd probably be squealing the next time she sees them together and there's only so much Haru can tolerate before he starts wanting to dive into the nearest body of water. Plus, Makoto would be embarrassed, and Haru doesn't like it when other people make Makoto blush.

"What the hell, Haru?!" 

He instinctively holds the phone away from his ear to save himself from going deaf from the volume of the caller's voice.

"Rin?" 

"What was with that text you sent me?" Rin barks out at him, sounding very affronted. "Why the fuck would you think I have pictures of Makoto?"

"Ah, sorry," Haru answers. Damn, he'd texted the wrong Matsuoka. "I meant to send that to your sister."

"Hah?! Are you saying Gou has—?" Rin doesn't sound surprised. "Wait, never mind, don't answer that. She probably has a whole folder of deltoids or triceps or some shit on her phone."

Haru listens tiredly to Rin ranting for a few minutes about his sister hanging out constantly with half-naked guys, making small noises of agreement whenever he deems it appropriate. He and everyone else from the swim club must have heard this spiel for hundreds of time, and although Rin being protective of Kou had been endearing at first, it's become sort of annoying hearing Rin chew out anyone he thinks is looking at his sister the wrong way.

_Enough._

"Bye, Rin." 

"Wait, Haru," Rin says. Haru heaves a long-suffering sigh and doesn't end the call.

"What?" It comes out harsher than he expected, but that's fine since Rin isn't as sensitive as Makoto so Haru can afford to be more abrasive than usual. Besides, he can't find it in him to be more patient, not when he's already this frustrated about not knowing what Makoto's thighs look like.

"So, why did you want pictures of Makoto anyway?" Rin's tone turns teasing. Haru doesn't like it.

"None of your business."

"Oh ho," the red-haired boy laughs. "Is that so?"

The unspoken implications in Rin's voice makes Haru press his lips together in a thin line. It hits too close to home, because there are some nights, usually during winter when he can't swim as often as he wants too, that he indulges in letting his imagination run wild and he, more often than not, ends up with the image of bright green eyes staring at him through clear water as he comes. As for the sticky mess of his sheets, he throws those into the washing machine the next morning with no little amount of shame at what he had done. Because more than anything, he doesn't want to tarnish what he has with Makoto, not when he isn't even sure yet what it is exactly that Makoto makes him feel.

"Shut up, Rin."

"Why don't you just go straight to the source? I'm sure Makoto would be more than happy to send you whatever you need."

Haru purses his lips; he'd forgotten how mischievous Rin could be when he wanted to. He's glad that they're all friends again, but really, does Rin have to be so grating on his nerves?

"Heck, even if you wanted dick pics, I bet—"

"I'm hanging up."

This time, for sure, he ends the call with a viscious jab at the button on his phone.

He flops down onto the tatami with an annoyed huff. 

_Well, what now?"_

He stares pensively at the unfinished drawing lying innocently on the floor. The head is fine, and so are the back and the arms and the hands. But the lower half of the body looks all wrong, and Haru hates how he can't put his finger on what makes it look so wrong; the proportions are believable, but it doesn't look like it belongs on Makoto.

Rin's comment about going straight to the source bugs him more than he'd like to admit. Compared to looking at pictures, it sounds infinitely preferable for all the wrong reasons, like his sudden urge to march over to the Tachibana house, drag Makoto back to his own place, then slowly unwrap him like an early birthday present.

Haru picks the paper up and shoves it under the tatami mat. He'd come back and finish it in a few days. In the meantime, he starts concocting various plans to get a look at the lower half of Makoto's body. He tells himself it's purely out of curiosity, and he almost convinces himself if not for the light flush dusting his cheeks. His mind starts running through scenarios that feel like they belong in some AV or something, only better because he's imagining Makoto tied down, or pinned against the lockers, or sprawled naked on his bed.

Suddenly, he feels uncomfortably hot, and the shorts he's wearing over his jammers seem way too tight. Haru squirms with discomfort, wondering why the mere thought of seeing Makoto naked is getting under his skin to this extent.

_I need a bath._

 

 

He spends hours in the water, but it doesn't cool the fire burning in him at all. For once, water is pushed to the wayside as his thoughts fixate on Makoto. Flashes of wet brown hair, tanned skin, and warm green eyes fill his mind, but it's only when he imagines the feel of hot lips moving against his bare skin that he realises that he really really wants to see Makoto right now.

Haru is no stranger to this kind of desire—a hasty and messy handjob from a blushing thirteen-year-old Makoto had been his first experience and every once in a while he pleasures himself just so his hormones don't go too wild—but he had never felt it this strongly before. Maybe it's because he hasn't been looking closely at Makoto until recently, but now in the light of everything that's happened, first with the training camp then the relay, it hits Haru with a dizzying jolt that Makoto really has grown up. He'd always been big for his age—a fact that Makoto sometimes complains about because he's always perpetually looking for clothes that would fit him properly—but in Haru's mind, he would always be that little boy hiding behind him with his fingers clenched around the hem of Haru's shirt. 

Now, however, Haru can no longer deny that Makoto has definitely grown up. When before he can look at Makoto and feel only the warmth of familiar affection, these days, that's no longer true. The affection is still there, as strong as ever, but now it carries an underlying current of physical attraction churning restlessly under the surface.

It throws Haru into confusion, his emotions all jumbled up and scattered and he can hardly make sense of any of it. But even through the tumult in his heart, one constant remains. 

Makoto by his side is something that Haru will always want. Always.

There is no clock in his bathroom, but the sky outside the window is dyed with streaks of sunset orange. Around this time, Makoto and his siblings would usually be at home preparing for dinner. 

Haru climbs out of the bath, splashing water everywhere. He absent-mindedly grabs a towel to dry himself off, wondering if it would be a prudent idea to call Makoto over right now. It's a Sunday night, and they have school tomorrow so there's really no acceptable reason—one that won't raise Makoto's suspicions—that Haru can provide for wanting Makoto to come over.

In the end, he decides to wait until tomorrow to put his plans of getting information to complete his sketch on hold. Besides, maybe sleep would calm him down and get his mind off the image of Makoto lying on his back with his legsuit pooling around his ankles. 

_Yeah, right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to think like an artist while I was writing Haru's POV, but I probably failed considering I'm really bad at visualising stuff. It's a bad habit of mine that I tend to fall back on writing about emotions and weird metaphors so I tried to not do that too much here...
> 
> Also, this would probably turn out to be mostly fluff because I'm itching to write happy MakoHaru after a few weeks of writer's block. Rating is M because I've already written part of the next chapter/s and it's definitely gonna move into M territory.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been two weeks since he had started working on his drawing of Makoto. Two weeks and all he has to show for it is a half-completed sketch hidden under the tatami of his living room that still lacks that something that Haru had been trying to grasp ever since he had decided to embark on this endeavour. Haru has never experienced being this obssessed about a drawing, but then he's never had problems with drawing Makoto before, primarily because this is the first time he's tried drawing him naked. When he had designed the club's recruitment poster, he hadn't been really concerned about accuracy so he had been content with putting out something that he considered only a mere shadow of Makoto's physique. 

Haru squirts a jet of water at the orca toy bobbing helplessly in the lukewarm bathwater.

Of course, the lack of results is in no way an indication that Haru hasn't tried; he has on many occasions, employing various strategies ranging from sneaking into the shower stall once Makoto's started washing the chlorine off himself to attempting to organize a joint trip to the school bathroom.

But fate seems to taunt his efforts, because Nagisa had barged in with a reluctant Rei in tow and what Haru had hoped would be 'alone time' for him and Makoto had turned into 'team bonding' in the form of a group shower. Then a few days later, Haru had followed Makoto silently as the taller boy excused himself to the bathroom but, Makoto, being the shy person he is, had insisted on foregoing the urinals and opting for the relative privacy of a cubicle instead.

In the end, he is no closer to finishing the drawing as he had been two weeks ago, and Haru has just about reached the end of his rope.

It's frustrating how his goal is just barely out of his reach. It teases him with possibilities, then dances gleefully away. Not that he can fault Makoto really, since there is no way someone like him would be this coy. It must just be Haru's rotten luck, or maybe Nagisa's uncanny proficiency in interrupting him just as he is putting his plans to action.

On the plus side, all his musings about the nature of his relationship with Makoto is slowly moving towards an answer that Haru suspects had been there all along. He's still unsure of how to deal with it, so he handles it like it's a fragile thing that would break at the lightest touch, but Haru harbors an irrational hope that maybe the something that had been missing from that drawing would be the last piece of the puzzle. Maybe the reason he can't complete it is because despite having been together for so long that he can't even remember a time without Makoto, there is still a part of Makoto that Haru doesn't know. 

Maybe once he's completed the drawing, everything will become clear. Or maybe he needs to figure all these feelings first before he can finish that sketch?

Soft string music tinkles in the background, interrupting his train of thought; it's Makoto calling his phone. He had recently taught Haru how to assign ringtones to his contacts and Haru had promptly taken advantage of the feature as a sort of makeshift caller ID so he can just ignore certain callers if he's in the bath. In this case, he had designated one ringtone for Makoto, another for everyone else in his contacts list.

Haru rises out of the bath with a sigh; perhaps hearing Makoto's voice would soothe his frazzled nerves. 

With a towel draped around his neck, Haru shuffles towards his room. His cellphone, still ringing, sits on his bedside table. He holds it up to his ear, a small smile playing on his lips, anticipation for the sound of Makoto's voice making the very tips of his fingers tingle pleasantly.

_"Hey, Haru. Were you in the bath just now?"_

Haru gives an answering grunt which draws an amused giggle from the brunet on the other line. 

_"I see. Anyway, have you eaten already? It's getting late, you know."_

Makoto reads Haru's silence as efficiently as always.

_"That won't do, Haru. You have to take better care of yourself."_

Makoto's chiding washes over him like the warm summer sea. Haru leans against the nearby table and allows himself a moment to indulge before he answers.

"I'll go make some mackerel then."

_"Haru..."_

A few minutes of comfortable silence passes between them before Makoto seems to remember that he had been calling for a reason other than telling Haru to eat.

_"Ah, Haru?"_

"What?"

_"I was wondering if you had plans for the next few days?"_

Makoto's hesitant tone sends a rush of possible scenarios racing in Haru's mind. The prospect of Makoto potentially asking him out makes Haru's heart start beating painfully fast in his chest; sure, shopping trips together has been a regular part of their relationship ever since Mrs. Tachibana had allowed Haru to come along with her and Makoto when she goes to the market, but this is the first time they'd be going out since Haru had realised that he might be sort-of kinda already half-in-love with his best friend.

"Not really." Haru manages to keep an even tone that belies his nervousness. His fingers tremble anxiously, and Haru takes a deep breath to calm himself.

_Relax. You're probably getting worked up over nothing._

_"Then, in that case..."_ Makoto trails off. Haru senses the embarrassment in his friend's voice clearly. 

"Just say it, Makoto," Haru pushes with just the right amount of force to urge Makoto to just spit it out already without making him think he's angry. Makoto's resigned exhale tells Haru that he's succeeded.

_"My parents are taking Ren and Ran to visit some relatives in Hokkaido,"_ he says after a few moments of silence. _"It's only for three days, but exams are almost up so I couldn't go with them."_

Ah, so it isn't an invitation to a trip to the next town for something Makoto thinks they both need. But that's fine, more than fine, because this new development is perfect for his plans.

"So you want me to come over and stay with you while they're gone," Haru finishes. Makoto must be anxious about staying all alone in his house; he may have mostly grown out of his fear of the water, but he's still as frightened as ever of the dark and things that go bump in the night.

_"Uh, yeah, if it's not too much trouble."_

Haru can all but see Makoto rubbing his nape bashfully, a self-deprecating smile on his face. 

"When?" Haru tries not to let his eagerness show.

_"They're leaving tomorrow morning, so..."_ Makoto trails off.

"I'll pack a few clothes tonight and we can go straight to your house after practice."

Miraculously, his voice doesn't betray his burgeoning excitement. He manages to speak like he always does when he takes charge of planning their activities—short and to the point.

_"Thank you, Haru."_

The relief in Makoto's voice is palpable even through the phone. He sighs—a sound that makes Haru push the phone harder against his ear in an attempt to hear more of it.

_"Okay, see you tomorrow then, and don't forget to eat something other than mackerel. I think you have a few vegetables in the fridge—"_

"I got it," Haru grouses, but he isn't mad, not really, because this has always been how Makoto is. Caring almost to the point of overbearing, but Haru wouldn't have him any other way.

Makoto giggles, and it's a cute, soft little sound that should really be illegal because it makes Haru's cheeks redden far too much. _"Good night, Haru."_

"You too."

The call ends with a click. Haru stands staring at the brightly-lit display for a few moments; this is his chance, and he should be happy, but at the same time, he is dreading the next three days. It's all well and good that he can have Makoto to himself for that long, but Haru isn't sure he can trust himself to keep his desires in check. School and practice are no problem because then Haru can justify to himself that just looking is fine since they're technically in public, but being in Makoto's room at night with just the two of them might be a bit troublesome.

On the other hand, maybe this is exactly what he needs to finally sort his feelings out. Haru dislikes being this confused, especially with something as crucial as this. So although he wants nothing but to just dive into water and let it wash his worries away, Haru chooses to barrel on and reach for the answer he seeks.

Besides, surely he can control himself for three nights. 

He makes his way to the kitchen to fix himself a meal.

 

 

That night, the mackerel tastes better than usual, and although Haru doesn't really like vegetables, he valiantly gulps down a few pieces anyway.

 

 

"You can use the bath first. I'll go prepare the futon."

The rest of the day—school then club practice with Rin and that Nitori person that Haru doesn't really know but tolerates anyway because he swims freestyle—had flown by in a blur, and suddenly it's just Haru and Makoto in the Tachibana house. Haru stands uncertainly at the threshold.

_I don't know if I can do this._

A sudden burst of self-doubt springs up in Haru; what if he does something to jeopardize his friendship with Makoto? Can he really trust himself not to take advantage of Makoto if the opportunity arises?

"Haru? What's wrong? Aren't you coming in?"

"Y-yeah." Haru turns his head to the side so Makoto can't see the wavering in his eyes.

He focuses on removing his shoes, placing them carefully to the side, all while studiously ignoring the concerned gaze directed at him. He makes a beeline for the bathroom, and once there, disrobes and places his clothes carefully in the hamper. Every move is stilted and calculated, but the routine helps because it keeps Haru's mind from wandering into dangerous territories.

For once, fifteen minutes submerged in the bath is enough for Haru. Once he exits the bathroom with only a towel draped loosely around his waist, Makoto is there waiting with a change of clothes for him. It's the shirt that Haru won't admit is his favorite—the orange and yellow shirt that he's worn more often than its owner has.

"I'll get dinner started."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Makoto protests with flailing hands. 

"Makoto, you can't cook," Haru deadpans. His point made, he starts towards the kitchen, leaving Makoto to his bath.

 

 

"Thanks for the meal."

Makoto sags back against his chair with a satisfied groan, his glasses sliding a few centimetres down his nose. His damp hair drips water all over the towel draped across his shoulder, but he doesn't seem to mind it at all.

Today's dinner had been green curry partly because there had been no mackerel in the freezer, but mostly because Haru knows green curry is Makoto's favorite. Makoto is the sort of person that needs to be spoiled sometimes because otherwise, he'd just keep putting his needs and wants aside for the sake of others. 

And Haru doesn't mind being the person to spoil him at all, not if the grateful smile and the soft look in Makoto's green eyes is the reward.

 

 

They do the dishes together, silently gravitating towards their usual roles; Haru would wash, Makoto would dry. 

Lost in thought, Haru is too preoccupied to notice the wooden bowl slipping from his hand. It plops into the dishwater with a splash that drenches the front of their shirts.

It would have ended there, but Haru, in a rare show of playfulness, flicks water at Makoto's chest. He would have gone for the face, but he's wearing his glasses and Haru would rather not have anything else obscure Makoto's green eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Hey!"

Dishes forgotten, Makoto dips a large hand into the soapy water, covers it with suds, and swipes it across Haru's face with a grin. Haru stares with mock consternation at the white bubbles on the tip of his nose, then retaliates by working his dripping hands along Makoto's side, a double attack of water and tickling. 

Makoto squirms away, giggling and chuckling, but Haru follows him until he's pressed up against the countertop. Haru's fingers continue ghosting along Makoto's sides, drawing hysterical laughter from the taller boy.

"H-Haru, stop it!" Makoto wheezes in between chuckles. "I can't, haha, breathe," he gasps. In a last-ditch counterattack, Makoto whips the damp dishcloth he is holding around Haru's hips and pulls hard. But it backfires, because it only serves to bring Haru closer—all the better to tickle Makoto's sides with abandon. 

Haru relents eventually, if only to avoid Makoto passing out from lack of air. Makoto, tired from all the laughing, sags against Haru, his head falling to rest on Haru's damp shoulders. Haru braces his arms against the ceramic countertop.

"Really, Haru, that was mean." Even without seeing it, he knows Makoto's lips are curled into a pout.

Haru hums in reply, enjoying the feel of Makoto's body pressed against him. Without thinking, he nuzzles Makoto's ear, his eyes closed in contentment.

Why had he been so worried? No amount of hormones would ever force him to do anything that would make him lose this warmth, this precious, precious thing that he treasures as much as, if not even more than, swimming. His mind may insist on producing images of Makoto for him to jerk off to, but in his heart he'd always put Makoto first. 

"Haru?" The quiet, confused voice sounds meek and tiny, like how Makoto used to sound back when they were kids. 

"Can I kiss you?" Haru whispers against the shell of Makoto's ear. He doesn't know a thing about confessing, doesn't know the right words to convey the feelings pouring so freely from within him, but he does know that he would very much like to kiss Makoto now.

Haru waits with bated breath for Makoto's answer; if he were to refuse, how would he react? The answer is painfully clear; Haru would back off and respect his wishes even if it breaks him. He clenches his eyes shut, hardly able to bear onslaught of fear and love twined together into a perfect storm.

But he shouldn't have worried, because Makoto wraps his arms around Haru and crushes him against his chest. Haru chances a glance up at Makoto's face.

"It's fine if you want to," Makoto mumbles with flushed cheeks and downcast eyes. His large hands slide down to grip Haru's forearms tightly. "Since it's Haru, it's okay."

Haru rises on his tiptoes, inching ever closer until their lips are mere millimetres apart. Makoto has his eyes squeezed shut, so Haru cups his cheek tenderly, silently urging him to open them. One eye peeks out, then another until Haru finds himself staring into the color of forever.

The first touch of their lips is like coming home. It's soft like a freshly blooming flower, warm as a midsummer evening. When Haru smiles against Makoto's mouth, Makoto responds by sliding his fingers into Haru's hair. 

From this close, Haru can finally admit to himself that this—whatever this is—had been years in the making, starting from a time not even the two of them can remember. Joyous laughter bubbles up inside him and escapes as chuckles muffled against Makoto's lips.

They laugh together in relief—at themselves for taking this long to realise something so obvious—then they laugh for the sake of laughing, because it feels good to see each other so outwardly happy.

When the laughter subsides into a comfortable silence, Haru pinches the damp fabric of Makoto's shirt and pulls it away with a frown.

"We should probably get changed or we might get sick," Makoto sighs, correctly interpreting Haru's unspoken thoughts.

Despite his words though, neither of them move an inch. On the contrary, Makoto's arms tighten around Haru even more.

"Makoto," Haru warns. Getting sick wouldn't be any good, especially with exams just around the corner.

"Just a little longer, 'kay?" Makoto mumbles into Haru's hair.

Haru supposes a couple of minutes more wouldn't hurt. He wraps his arms around Makoto's neck and threads his fingers through slightly damp brown locks. 

Makoto's glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, and the way he peeks shyly over the metal frame to look down and hold Haru's gaze weakens his resolve even more.

"Just a few minutes then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It ended up a bit longer than I originally meant it to be, so maybe one or two more chapters after this. Still working on the smut, but it's coming. 
> 
> No pun intended XD


	3. Chapter 3

Realisation hits him like a truckload of mackerel just as he finishes pulling another one of Makoto's shirts over his head; now would be the perfect time to finally get what he needs to finish that accursed sketch. 

Makoto is only a closed door away, and he must be only half-way done with changing out of his damp clothes. Haru knows for a fact how slow Makoto is with changing—he generally takes far more care with clothes than Haru does—so the few minutes that had gone by would not have been enough.

Decision made, Haru's knuckles rap a quick staccato on Makoto's bedroom door. He briefly wonders whether he should have insisted that they hadn't needed to change in different rooms, but then dismisses it because there are far more important things to deal with than thinking about what could have happened.

"Makoto, let me in."

The door opens a crack, Makoto peeking out, eyes alight with curiosity. He's no longer wearing his glasses; he'd probably taken them off before changing.

"Haru? Wait, what—!"

Before Makoto can say anything else, Haru pushes his way into the room. His gaze immediately sweeps down Makoto's half-naked form. 

He's holding the shirt against his torso, his boxer shorts hanging loosely on his hips as he presses back against the wooden door. Haru vaguely remembers picking those shorts out for Makoto a few weeks before during one of their shopping trips. He had liked the wavy patterns because they remind him of water, so he had managed to convince Makoto to get them matching pairs in their respective sizes.

His finger taps his lower lip in thought as he tries to figure out how to go about getting those shorts out of the way. His eyes flit up towards Makoto's.

"Wh-what is it?" Makoto asks uncertainly. 

"Do you mind getting rid of those?" Haru gestures to the aforementioned boxers. "They're in the way."

"Huh?! In the way of what?" Makoto splutters, ears starting to turn red.

"Tsk," Haru clicks his tongue impatiently. "I want to see your legs, dummy. Now strip."

When Makoto simply stares at him with slack-jawed surprise, Haru decides to take matters into his own hands.

Of course, by 'matters' he means Makoto's boxers. 

"Haaaruu, wait!" Makoto's voice rises as he grabs Haru's hands, effectively stopping them from sliding his shorts past his hips. 

"I just want to see," Haru mumbles, his head turning to the side. He can't help the pout curving his lips down, especially because he knows that Makoto is weak against this sort of attack; most of the time, sulking a little bit goes a lot farther than simply being stubborn and persistent. Just like Haru can hardly resist when Makoto directly asks him for something, Makoto finds it difficult to deny Haru when he acts like this.

It's a bit of a low blow, Haru knows, but he figures considering they've all but confessed to each other already, what he wants to see—Makoto's bare legs—shouldn't be all that surprising.

His lips still pursed in a pout, Haru chances a glance at Makoto to see if his sulking is working. When their eyes meet, Makoto heaves a sigh, his large hands dropping limply to his side.

"I g-guess you can look, if you really want to," he says. "But I don't get why you want to see them so much. It's not like they're anything special."

This would be where Haru should start explaining himself. So he does.

"I've been trying to draw you for weeks, but I couldn't get your lower half right," Haru say in a matter-of-fact tone as he grips the waistband of Makoto's shorts.

"Is that so?" Makoto nervously laughs. Haru's lips quirk up at the sight of Makoto's flushed face.

_Cute._

Just as Haru is pulling the cloth down, Makoto stops him again. 

_I can do it myself_ , Makoto's eyes say.

_Let me do it_ , Haru replies silently.

This time, Makoto relents a lot more easily. With one hand gripping the waistband of Makoto's shorts and the other offered to Makoto so he has something to hold on to to keep his balance, Haru finally begins undressing Makoto.

He doesn't go slow; he's too impatient for that. But he's careful not to hurt Makoto by accident, so it takes a few seconds of awkward tugging and pulling anyway. In the end, though, it's all worth it, Haru thinks.

The shape is almost as he had envisioned, just a bit more muscular. The lines and dips are similar to his own, but different at the same time. He's a lot bulkier, for one, compared to Haru's lean build—Makoto's calves are a bit thicker, and so are his thighs. The skin on his upper thighs are pale and soft-looking, tan lines clearly outlining the amount of time Makoto spends in the pool with his legsuit on.

Haru extends a finger to trace a line from the back of Makoto's knee down to his ankle. When Makoto doesn't complain, he gets bolder, letting his hand press completely against the arch of Makoto's foot. In his mind, he memorises the way his hand fits around it—it's a way for him to commit Makoto's body to memory.

He moves upward, smoothing his hand over the newly-revealed skin, lingering for a while on Makoto's calves—first his right, then his left. There's a short, straight line of a scar on the left one, and a round one just below his right kneecap. Haru rubs his thumb on the straight scar, and looks up at Makoto.

From his position, he has a clear, unobstructed view of Makoto's cock, which is a distracting sight to say the least. He had been so obssessed with seeing Makoto's legs that he had somehow glossed over the fact that taking Makoto's boxers off would mean he'd be seeing a whole lot more of Makoto's lower body than his legs.

_Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all._

Before he gets too excited, he quickly ducks his head, focusing on the scar marring Makoto's skin.

"How did you get this?"

Makoto squints at what Haru is referring to. "Oh, that? Remember that time when Nagisa helped Rei shave so he can improve his time?"

Haru nods.

"Well, I tried it—shaving, I mean—when I got home after practice that day."

Makoto rubs his nape sheepishly. "But I was a bit clumsy with the razor, I guess. I cut myself by accident."

Haru's eyes narrow. "You shouldn't do it again, then."

"Yeah, I don't plan to. Besides, using the razor onmy legs was a bit scary and you know how I can't handle seeing blood, so I'm not keen on trying it again."

"Good," Haru says with an emphatic nod. "And this one?"

"Hmm?" Makoto's eyebrows scrunch up in thought. "I don't remember, actually," he trails off.

Haru shrugs it off; if Makoto can't remember, then it couldn't have been all that painful for him. 

He moves closer, his nose occasionally brushing Makoto's leg as he drinks in every last detail. He doesn't know when he'll get another chance to do this, so he carefully goes over every inch of Makoto's legs—first with his eyes, then with his fingers. He kneads the muscular flesh, occasionally prodding at it in an effort to better imprint its shape into his mind.

The light trembling in Makoto's limbs makes Haru question himself.

_Am I being too pushy?_

He doesn't want to pressure Makoto into anything, so he asks, "Is this really okay with you?"

"Mm, it feels a bit nice, actually," Makoto replies, his eyelids drooping as if in drowsiness. "Kind of like a massage."

Haru searches his face, his body language, for any sign of discomfort and is relieved to find none. He'd never forgive himself if Makoto did something he didn't like just to make him happy.

Just as Haru's hand start to move from Makoto's calves up to his thighs, he remembers from elementary school that one of Makoto's ticklish spots is the back of his knees. Unable to resist, he ghosts a feather-light touch over the spot that he knows would elicit a reaction from the brunet. 

Suddenly alert, Makoto doubles over and lets out a wrangled mix of a yelp and a giggle with Haru's name sandwiched in between, his hand slipping out of Haru's to rest on his shoulder instead. 

"Haru, that tickles!"

"Sorry," Haru says, not sounding sorry in the least. From the way Makoto is mock-glaring at him, he can tell that Haru had done it on purpose.

Still, Makoto doesn't push him away; he just straightens up and recaptures one of Haru's hands for balance. Or maybe he just likes holding Haru's hand, which is a sentiment that Haru himself can relate to very well because Makoto has a way of completely encompassing his hands, making hand-holding feel a lot more intimate than it should be.

"Tell me when you're done looking, okay?" Makoto says with another one of those bright, gentle smiles that warm Haru down to the tips of his toes.

He looks comfortable now despite the fact that he's practically naked with Haru being this close to him, and for some reason that sparks a tiny bit of irritation within Haru.

_He's being too calm about this._

It's a contradiction that shouldn't makes sense—Haru both likes and dislikes how easy it is for Makoto to relax in a situation that would rattle a normal person. On the one hand, it's good that Makoto can be this comfortable with Haru, but on the other, he hates how he seems to be the only one affected by the proximity of Makoto's naked body, if the heat swirling low in his abdomen is any indication.

It's not that he wants to make Makoto uncomfortable; it's just that it's a bit of a blow to his ego that Makoto isn't much flustered by the fact that Haru is kneeling before him with his face literally less than a metre away from his cock.

In an effort to even the odds, he presses a quick open-mouthed kiss to the point where Makoto's knee and thigh meet. Haru's eyes flick up to gauge his reaction.

Makoto's relaxed smile is gone, replaced by a wide-eyed, flushed look. His hand is pressed against his mouth, and it looks like it's shaking quite a bit. The other hand disentangles itself from Haru's fingers then balls into a fist.

"No good?" Haru asks in case he had gone too far.

Makoto shakes his head wildly. His closed fist slowly uncurls, fingers timidly reaching out to brush against Haru's forehead. He brushes back some errant dark locks before smiling at Haru again, only this smile is a bit different from the normal. It's bashful, excited, and nervous all at the same time, and it's so purely Makoto that Haru all but melts into him.

"I was just a bit surprised, that's all," he explains. His gaze falls to the side, but he makes no motion to reject Haru's touches. The curve of his body speaks otherwise, in fact; the way it is angled towards Haru tells him that Makoto wants Haru to touch him more.

This time he goes slower, both to give Makoto time to warn him if he's stepping over too many lines and to savor the little hitches in Makoto's breath as Haru's lips slide up his thigh. Inch by inch, he works from the outside to the softer inside, all while his gaze is riveted on Makoto's face.

Briefly, he acknowledges in his mind that the initial purpose of this activity—to get enough details about Makoto's legs—has been forgotten in favor of getting Makoto to make more of those sounds that are driving him crazy with want. Besides, if he is to be completely honest with himself, perfecting the sketch had just been a flimsy excuse, an attempt by his conscious mind to disguise the fact that he just really wanted to see all of Makoto.

Feeling a little bolder now that he had admitted to himself that this is what he had been craving these past few weeks, Haru allows himself a short-lived lick of Makoto's skin. He tastes a bit like salt—probably from sweat—and that should put him off even a little bit but Haru finds himself thirsting for more. 

Haru drags the flat of his tongue along the outside of Makoto's thigh, drawing nonsensical patterns on the skin. A sharp gasp from Makoto draws his attention back to the brunet's face.

The sight he sees makes Haru's cock twitch in response—the dark look of arousal in those green eyes and the way his lips parted slightly as he pants send delicious shivers down Haru's spine.

With his cheek pressed against Makoto's outer thigh, Haru pauses for a moment to find the words to convey what he wants. His fingers dance lightly on the surface of Makoto's skin as he collects his thoughts. Almost absent-mindedly—although it's more his subconscious acting on his desires than mere inattentiveness—his hand slides up to cup the curve of Makoto's ass.

Makoto bites back a moan, and Haru realises he really doesn't have to think about the words because Makoto would understand—because he knows Haru best, and he knows how awkward his words sometimes are, and he understands him anyway.

"I want to kiss you all over," Haru informs Makoto, his even tone just barely hinting at his own arousal. He eyes Makoto's dick coming alive, his mouth suddenly dry. 

_It's bigger than I thought._

"Okay," Makoto replies breathlessly. "But can I at least touch you too?"

The pleading in Makoto's voice compels Haru to quickly straighten up, grab Makoto's arm, and pull him to the bed. He pushes him down and makes him half-sit, half-lie on the sheets.

"It's easier on the bed," he explains needlessly as he crawls to Makoto and situates himself comfortably over him. Haru rests on his elbows, one knee planted firmly between Makoto's legs. 

In the movies—not that Haru has watched many other than Ponyo and Atlantis and Waterworld, but still, he knows most of the romantic tropes well enough—this should be where he would declare his feelings for Makoto.

"I love you," he blurts out before his brain can catch up with his mouth. He starts mentally kicking himself for saying such an overused line, but then he realises that it's true so it doesn't matter that it's cliche. 

Besides, if there's anything he had learned from all that had happened with Rin and the rest, it's that sometimes, saying things out loud are necessary, because often, the most important things that may seem obvious are the ones that need to be conveyed most clearly.

"I love Makoto," he amends. That's sounds a bit better—a little less cliche and a lot more personal, with no room for any misunderstanding. 

"Haru..." Makoto trails off, for once at a loss for words. "All this time, I've—I mean—I think—"

Haru waits patiently, knowing that Makoto needs a little time to gather his thoughts into a coherent sentence. The way his nose scrunches up and his mouth twitches a little as he concentrates on coming up with the words is cute. Haru cradles Makoto's cheek and leans down to press their foreheads together.

"I love Haru too," Makoto finally says. There is no hint of hesitance in that green gaze, only a faint sheen of embarrassment over a hot swirling of love and desire. "I didn't think I could say it before but ...As I thought, I really, really do love you, Haru. I think I always have ever since we were kids."

Heat floods his cheeks. As always, Makoto is a lot more eloquent than Haru with expressing his feelings. He gives voice to the words in Haru's heart, and it's a beautiful feeling to know how completely their feelings reflect each other's.

A large hand at his nape guides Haru down, and for the second time that night, their lips meet in a kiss. Unlike the first, however, this one is quick to turn heated.

Makoto's tongue presses against Haru's closed lips, and he doesn't even think twice about opening up and inviting Makoto inside. Their tongues intertwine, not really battling for dominance so much as alternating between leading and following. 

Lewd, wet sounds echo in Makoto's brightly-lit room, and it only pauses when Makoto pulls away reluctantly to take a much-needed breath. His ragged breathing makes his chest muscles ripple in a way that captivates Haru and makes him lick his lips in anticipation. His hands roam the now sweat-slick expanse of skin, lightly brushing over Makoto's nipples. 

In response, Makoto throws an arm around Haru's neck, rough and gentle at the same time as he pulls him down for another kiss. A hand slides down Haru's spine to rest at the small of his back. 

The feel of Makoto's skin against his own is muted by the clothes he is wearing, so in the next lull between kisses, he takes a moment to rid himself of Makoto's shirt.

But his impatience costs him. He pulls up the hem—a familiar enough action—but in his haste, his head gets caught in the tangle of laundry-scented cloth. He struggles, but it only makes things worse as the more frustrated he gets, the more stubborn the shirt seems to become.

Taking off his clothes is as easy to Haru as cooking mackerel, and fate chooses now, when he really, really wants to get out of that damned shirt already, to make him fumble and mess up. This recent run of bad luck is getting ridiculous, and he's getting just a little bit frustrated.

Makoto's giggling, as adorable though as it may sound, doesn't help any.

"Do you need some help, Haru?" he asks in between barely-contained good-natured snickers. 

"I got it," Haru grumbles obstinately despite the fact that accepting Makoto's help would make things a lot easier. He manages to get the shirt off, but not before Makoto leans up and gets one last thing in.

"Haru-chan is so cute," he breathes against Haru's collarbone.

"I told you," Haru shoots back, his fingertips digging lightly into Makoto's scalp, "to drop the -chan already."

Because Haru knows how this particular conversation would end, he has no qualms with silencing Makoto with his lips. Besides, he's fairly sure he speaks for the both of them when he decides that kissing is a far more attractive option compared to a not-argument about names and suffixes.

Without the shirt in the way, Haru can acutely feel Makoto's touch burning itself into his skin, only the burn is a pleasant kind of heat that sinks into him and ignites a crackling fire that spreads out until his whole body is tingling with desire. Kissing Makoto is not like swimming, but it makes him just as happy. While the water cools his mind and allows him clarity and solitude, being with Makoto warms him up and reminds him that he is never alone—not once, not ever.

Haru leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the length of Makoto's neck, moving down to his collarbone where he nips gently, just hard enough to leave a faint mark. Makoto jerks up in surprise, and the motion causes his dripping erection to jut against Haru's still-clothed thigh. 

"Sorry," Makoto apologises. 

"For what?"

"Eh? Well, 'cause you know," Makoto says, gesturing vaguely towards god knows what.

"No, I don't know," Haru deadpans. "If you're apologising for getting hard, it's really not something you should be sorry for."

"Haru," Makoto whines, a hand coming up to cover his face in embarrassment. 

"Look, I'm the same," Haru insists. He grabs Makoto's hand—the one that is currently hiding his face—and begins to guide it to his own hardness. 

"Ah, Haru," Makoto tries to fight against Haru's grip, but his efforts are half-hearted at best. Still, it's a rejection of sorts, and it stings.

"You don't want to touch it?" Haru can't hide the hurt in his voice.

"No!" Makoto exclaims. "I mean, yes? I want to..."

"But?" Haru prompts him. Makoto mumbles a quiet string of words that Haru can't quiet make out. He leans in closer, wordlessly asking Makoto to speak louder.

"But it's a bit embarrassing," Makoto repeats, his face completely red.

Before he realises it, a chuckle has made its way out of his mouth. 

"Are you—" Makoto begins.

"Sorry," Haru quickly smothers the next chuckle behind his hand.

"Ah, as I thought, you're laughing at me!" Makoto pouts. "I'm not used to this, okay?" he huffs before crossing his arms across his chest. 

"Neither am I," Haru reminds him.

"But you seem to be just fine with touching and stuff." His petulant tone is something that even Haru rarely hears, and it endears Makoto to him even more because it's only with Haru that he feels he can let go of his big brother persona, even for just a while.

"That's because I want to make you feel good." Haru punctuates his statement with a lingering touch on Makoto's hip. He traces circles with his thumb, starting slow to get Makoto used to Haru touching him intimately. "But if you really don't like it, just say so. I'll stop."

"No!" Makoto cries, reaching out and pulling Haru closer.

"I want," Makoto gulps. "I want Haru to feel good too." 

Makoto's hand hovers just above the waistband of Haru's borrowed shorts, his gaze flickering with uncertainty. 

"Show me?" he requests sheepishly, a nervous smile on his face.

"Sit up," Haru instructs him. Makoto follows.

"And?"

Haru purses his lips in thought. How exactly should they go about this? He knows how to make himself come, but he's not sure if the actions that feel good to him would make Makoto orgasm.

He starts with a loose grip at the base of Makoto's cock, pumping it experimentally. "You know how to masturbate, right?" 

"Mastur—!" Makoto splutters before a low groan cuts him off. "Of course I do!"

"Then it should be more or less the same. Only I'll do yours, and you can do mine if you want." Surprisingly, Haru doesn't feel more than a slight sting of embarrassment in their conversation. He supposes it's because Makoto is self-conscious enough for the both of them.

He doesn't really know where all this confidence is coming from, but he's grateful for it anyway.

Makoto's hand pushes past the elastic of Haru's shorts, and there is only a short pause of indecision before he closes his eyes, wraps his just-a-little rough hand around Haru's dick, and frees it from the confines of his shorts, leaving the garment half-way down Haru's legs. 

Haru hisses in pleasure, his lips falling open in surprise. He hadn't expected it to feel this good; all those times he had touched himself pale in comparison, probably because his own hand on his cock doesn't feel nearly as amazing as Makoto's does.

He ruts up into Makoto's touch as he matches the pace of his hand on Makoto's erection to the rhythm of Makoto's strokes. The heat of Makoto's throbbing cock in his hand and the delicious friction of his callused hand on his dick floods Haru's mind with want. 

"Makoto," he moans. His strokes become faster, more frenzied, fueled by Makoto's panting in his ear. His legs curl of their own accord around Makoto's waist, bringing them even closer together.

"Wai—ahh—Haru!" Makoto's desperate cry pierces through the haze fogging up Haru's mind. "Haa, I'm—ngh!"

_'I'm close'_ is what Makoto wants to say—Haru can tell from the gritting of his teeth and the tightening tension in his limbs that he's very close. A split-second decision has him pulling away, and nudging Makoto to lie back down on the sheets.

Haru gazes down at Makoto lying under him, his cock practically weeping for attention. He moves farther down—although moving is a bit difficult with the waistband of his shorts restricting his legs' movements, not to mention his current state of almost-painful arousal—until his face is level with Makoto's erection. 

"Haru, I can't touch you in this position," Makoto's worried voice calls out to him.

"It doesn't matter. Let me take care of you, okay?" Haru responds, a quick smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"If you're sure..." Makoto bites his lip.

Haru swipes a thumb over the leaking head, then licks the precum off of it. It's salty, but not unpleasantly so. The next bit shouldn't be too hard to do.

He closes his lips over the tip and sucks, hollowing his cheeks as he does. His hands wrap around the base, caressing the part of Makoto's cock that isn't in his mouth. As much as he'd love to take him whole, he isn't confident that he can do that much without more practice, especially considering Makoto's larger than average size.

He releases Makoto's dick with a pop, then proceeds to lick along the sides. He's not entirely sure whether what he's doing is right—this is the first time he's done this after all—but Makoto's loud moaning encourages him. 

A soft touch at his cheek makes him open eyes that he hasn't realised had slid closed. Makoto is looking at him, and the tenderness in his every action—in the way he cradles Haru's cheek, in the way his fingers slide up to gently grip his hair—makes Haru want to make Makoto come even more, to make him moan his name even more loudly than he already is.

Determined, he starts quickly bobbing his head on Makoto's cock, one hand cupping his balls and the other still stroking Makoto's shaft. His jaw is beginning to ache, but it's a small price to pay for the breathless groans that he is drawing from the brunet. He pushes down with his elbows to hinder Makoto's bucking up—not because he wants to tease, but because he'd rather not gag during his first time giving a blowjob.

The muscles in Makoto's thighs stretch taut, and it's the only warning he gets before a thick, warm saltiness spurts into his mouth. He swallows as much as he can with only a trace of a grimace, which is more out of surprise than disgust. The rest, he can feel dribbling down his chin, and some of it had even somehow gotten on his chest.

The satisfied bliss on Makoto's face is quickly replaced by red-faced contriteness. Haru mourns the fact that he hadn't had ample time to enjoy that short-lived moment when Makoto had been gazing down at him with lust-darkened green eyes, his chest rising and falling with every breathless pant.

"Oh my god, Haru! I'm so sorry!" Makoto hurriedly attempts to wipe the cum off Haru's face, but only succeeds in smearing it even more. "Wait here, I'll get tissues! Or would you prefer a towel?"

"Don't." Haru's simple reply appears to baffle Makoto. "Don't need anything," he clarifies. His tongue darts out and laps up the cum on his face, and he mops up the mess on his chest with his hands as best he could, then licks them clean too.

A muffled 'eep' makes Haru quirk his head questioningly at Makoto.

"It's just," he stammers. "Seeing you do that," he glances down at Haru's fingers in his mouth, "was kinda hot."

Haru's eyes widen in surprise.

_Hot?_

He had hardly meant for his actions to arouse—he'd simply thought that he doesn't want to let go of Makoto for even the short time it takes to fetch tissues—but he isn't complaining. Not one bit.

"I think it's your turn now, Haru," Makoto says as he reaches for Haru's still-hard dick.

"Wait." Haru stops Makoto with a hand on his wrist. "I'd like to try something else."

Getting up close and personal with Makoto's inner thighs—those thighs that had more or less started this whole chain of events—had sparked the beginnings of an idea.

Haru coaxes Makoto onto his side. The other complies, although Haru can tell he's curious about what it is exactly that Haru wants to try. In lieu of an explanation, he pulls the shorts off himself and curves his body behind Makoto's. He urges Makoto to draw up his legs while still keeping his knees together.

Once he's more or less satisfied with the way Makoto is lying on his side, Haru reaches down and grips his own erection, guiding it between Makoto's thighs. In this position, there is hardly any distance between Makoto's legs, so when his cock slides into that miniscule gap, Haru gasps a low, breathless 'fuck'.

_It feels really good._

As he had expected, the soft skin on Makoto's inner thighs feels like silk against his dick, yet there is still just enough friction to send shivers down Haru's spine. He thrusts into that warm tightness, his arms around Makoto's waist, the whole front of his naked body pressed along Makoto's back. Another advantage of this particular position, Haru thinks with more than a little glee, is that practically the whole of Makoto's back is in full view, and the way it flexes with every motion, every minute roll of his shoulders in response to Haru's thrusts, makes even more blood rush down south.

It's no wonder he's getting a bit light-headed.

Haru feathers kisses all over what parts of Makoto that he can reach, but it seems that isn't enough to satisfy Makoto.

Without impeding Haru's rutting in between his thighs, he twists his upper body and places a hand on Haru's nape so he can kiss him properly. With the taste of Makoto in his mouth, the feeling of his tongue caressing his own, and the slick tight heat sliding against his cock, it doesn't take long for Haru to come. 

Makoto lets him ride it out, gamely pressing his thighs together until the last of Haru's come has spilled all over him and the bed. Once spent, Haru rolls away to give Makoto a bit more space, although not a lot because Makoto's bed is pretty narrow. 

In the end, he shouldn't have bothered, because as soon as the chance presented itself, Makoto gathers him into his arms and presses a tender kiss to Haru's forehead.

"Was it good, Haru?"

"Very." Haru yawns. He hadn't realised how physically taxing it would be to do something like this with Makoto, but this kind of boneless exhaustion isn't so bad.

"We should do this again."

"Whenever you want." Even without seeing it, Haru can hear Makoto smile. "Although we should probably clean up before bed, no?"

Haru's ears perk up at the mention of clean-up.

"Bath?"

"I guess so," Makoto chuckles indulgently.

In a flash, Haru is on his feet and on his way to the Tachibana bathroom. He's glad that they're alone in the house because it means he can go to the bath as he is—naked, that is. Of course, he also can't ignore the fact that them having the house to themselves for two more days after this sounds appealing.

Very appealing.

He can already feel the water closing over his head, but before that, there's one last thing.

"Makoto, aren't you coming?" he throws over his shoulder before continuing on. The patter of bare feet on floorboards makes him smile to himself.

"Wait for me, Haru!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a quick little epilogue that I'm planning to do here just to wrap thing up nicely. It was supposed to be part of this chapter, but then the smut turned out longer than I expected D:


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done~
> 
> What was supposed to be a two-part fic at the most became four parts o_O 
> 
> Excuse the incoming fluff; I just wanted to indulge in otp cuteness *_*

"So, did you ever actually get those Makoto pictures you'd been wanting?" Rin asks around the straw in his mouth. His glass is filled with some blood-red liquid; Haru privately thinks it suits Rin's personality to a T.

It's the Sunday after that first night alone with Makoto, and Nagisa had dragged them all along to the aquarium under the guise of another team-bonding event, and somehow Rin and Nitori—or 'Ai-chan', as Nagisa calls him—had gotten invited as well. Normally, Haru would have enjoyed it, but lately he'd been preferring to just stay in his own house, mostly because it's basically the only place where he and Makoto can do whatever they want—or be as loud as they want—without disturbing anyone.

Then, once they had arrived, it had somehow ended up with Nagisa gallivanting off to look at the penguins with poor Rei in tow, leaving him and Makoto with Rin and his underclassman admirer. 

Surprisingly, Makoto and Nitori had hit it off pretty well, and they had decided to go and buy tickets to the dolphin show for the four of them, leaving Haru and Rin twiddling their thumbs in a pastel-coloured cafe.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Haru replies primly.

"Oi, you're kidding me, right?" Rin says disbelievingly. "You're not seriously going to pretend you never asked me for pictures of Makoto?"

"Like I said," Haru smirks into his own multi-coloured drink. "I have no idea what you're talking about." 

He's enjoying how Rin's getting riled up a bit too much, but Makoto isn't here to rein him in so he makes the most of it.

He purposely ignores Rin's growing agitation, until Rin finally snaps.

"Fine, I was going to say I actually did manage to get my hands on some pictures, and they're pretty good ones too," Rin declares, his voice taunting.

Haru's head whips around so fast it dizzies him.

"What?"

"Heh," Rin smirks at his reaction. "That got your attention pretty quick, eh?"

That knowing glint and those waggling eyebrows—as much as they irritate him, there's a tiny part of him that enjoys being teased about Makoto. He likes it because of the implication that other people can tell that they're together. Not just as best friends, but something more.

Neither of them had had the chance to mention that they've basically graduated from being friends, but that's merely a case of there having been no point in any conversation up until now with any of their other friends where a natural segue into romantic discussion had been possible. 

Haru supposes now would be as good a time as any to at least hint at the new nature of his and Makoto's relationship.

"Hmph," Haru huffs. A brown head towering over the crowd catches his eye just as he is about to pressure Rin into giving him those pictures.

"It doesn't matter."

Haru stands up quickly, leaving half of his drink still in his glass. Rin, not one to be left behind, stands as well, but not before draining his glass in one straight gulp. His cheeks balloon like a chipmunk, and Haru decides there's no way he's letting this chance to one-up Rin pass him by.

"I don't need your pictures anyway," he directs at Rin, a quiet snort the only indication of his teasing. "Not when I've got the real thing to myself."

The ensuing cough as most of Rin's beverage presumably goes down the wrong pipe makes him chuckle. Rin, when he's not too busy being a dick, is pretty fun to tease.

After one last triumphant smirk at having gotten the last word in, Haru turns and walks swiftly towards his— _friend? boyfriend? lover?_

_Makoto_ , he decides. His Makoto.

Even Rin isn't dense enough to miss the meaning behind Haru's words. 

_Makoto is mine._

 

 

On their way home, after bidding numerous goodbyes to everyone else at the station and exchanging promises that they'll all go out together again, Makoto finally gets around to asking.

"By the way, Haru, you said you were having trouble drawing me, right?" 

It's a testament to how fast they had grown comfortable with their new normal—where stolen kisses and lingering touches are not uncommon—that there is only a faint flush on Makoto's cheeks when Haru laces their fingers together.

"What about it?"

The sunset ignites the sea into flashes of orange-red. Haru watches it, and the urge to draw becomes a slow itch starting at the base of his spine.

He had been foolish to be afraid of changing their relationship; he should have known that no matter what, Makoto will always be Makoto, and in the end, that's all that really matters.

"Are you still having trouble?" Makoto tilts his head towards Haru.

"No, not anymore." Haru tears his eyes away from the glowing sunset-dyed sea. It's beautiful, but there is something infinitely more precious, and he's walking beside him right now.

"Although," he drawls, "if you're volunteering to model nude for me, I won't complain."

"Haru!" Makoto draws out his name the way he does when he's lamenting Haru's lack of tact and social propriety. 

"Is that a no?" Haru persists, half-joking but not really. 

"Maybe," Makoto mumbles, his own version of a devious grin forming on his face. The sight of it sparks a whole different kind of tingling, memories of their recent 'activities' clamoring for attention in his mind. "It's a maybe."

"Maybe?"

Makoto leans down, his mouth inches from Haru's ear.

"Make us some green curry for lunch tomorrow, and I'm all yours. After club practice, of course," he murmurs, his breath hot against Haru's cheek.

"I thought you were mine already," Haru fires back. It's not doubt that flares up in him—it's a spark of competitiveness because obviously mackerel is the better lunch option.

"Well yeah, of course," Makoto nods, scratching his cheek pensively. Haru fights the smile blooming on his face from the fact that Makoto doesn't even think twice about admitting that they belong to each other.

"I just meant that if you make us green curry, I'll do whatever kind of posing you want me to do."

At Haru's raised eyebrows, he quickly adds, "For the drawing! That's all!"

"Okay."

"Eh?" Makoto's perplexed expression is cute. Lately, he's been noticing a trend in his thoughts; where before he had held back on dwelling too much on noticing Makoto, now his mind seems insistent on catching up on all those years of forced ignorance, so now every little thing Makoto does seems inexplicably adorable.

"I'll do it. Tomorrow, we'll have curry for lunch."

"Un. I'll look forward to it." Makoto's thumb kneads the skin on Haru's palm, a small way of appeasing him after what Makoto perceives as his asking to be spoiled. It isn't necessary because Haru doesn't mind, but he'd gladly accept these little tokens of affection any time.

 

 

When they reach the part of the shrine steps where they part ways, Makoto reluctantly peels his hand away from Haru's and starts making his way down.

"Makoto."

He turns expectantly. From his higher vantage point, a single step above the one Makoto is standing on, Haru is at the perfect height to lean close—without having to tiptoe or pull Makoto down to his level—and press a chaste kiss to the corner of Makoto's mouth.

Except Makoto anticipates it, and he angles his head so their lips mesh perfectly. One kiss turns into many little ones, short ones that one steals and the other steals back. 

Eventually though, Makoto sighs regretfully, his breath a warm touch against Haru's face. "I have to get home."

"Okay." Only Makoto can detect the forlorn tone in Haru's voice. He caresses Haru's cheek, and it's an unspoken comfort that makes parting all the more difficult.

One last lingering kiss, and Haru forces himself to say, "Go on then. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah." Makoto smiles up at him. "Until tomorrow."

Makoto is slow to disentangle his hands from Haru's, and when he finally lets go, Haru finds himself missing Makoto already.

 

 

Haru lingers on the top of the steps, shivering lightly in the cool sea breeze.

This full feeling in his heart, the thrumming in his chest, he wants to keep it there forever. As he watches Makoto's retreating back, a whisper of a promise hanging between them, he reaffirms his feelings to himself with the taste of Makoto on his lips.

With Makoto's warmth still clinging to him, Haru makes his way home with a contented smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, that shameless referencing of imagery from Mako-chan's shiokaze no friendship is the direct result of too much listening to their character songs (and duets, can't not mention that XD). Also I've been in love with the lyrics of that song since forever so it was just a matter of time before I used it somehow :D


End file.
